


Nightmares & Dreamscapes

by justanothersong



Series: Djinn Dreams and Nightmares [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, djinn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader is still dealing with the repercussions of her brush with a djinn; a kind word from a friend with a similar experience leads to a face-to-face with with the object of her daydreams... and nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares & Dreamscapes

It was the popcorn that finally drew you out.

You had holed up in your apartment for days after your rescue from the djinn, when all of the dirty little secrets you’d been holding so close to your heart for years had been brought to light. Everyone knew now; even he knew.

You were in love with Bucky Barnes, and he knew all about it.

They did their best to give you your space. No one bothered you, letting you take time away to heal. You had physical wounds that needed tending as much as the emotional harm that had been done. You’d lost a lot of blood and been deep in a psychotropic coma for several days, and the road to recovery was not a short one. 

So they let you be.

 

And then there was the popcorn. Your enhanced senses were what made you so valuable to the team; sound, scent, and sight were your specialties. You could tone down your senses when you needed to, dampening them with a self-created shield to keep you from becoming overwhelmed, but there were always things that could slip in; hot buttered popcorn, a favorite snack, was one that always crept past your barriers.

It was late and quiet in the Tower. There hadn’t been much in the way of work for the team in several days, so far as you knew; they had been kind enough to leave you to your recovery, so you hadn’t been involved with anything as of late. 

You had hoped the kitchen would be abandoned, that whoever had been making the popcorn had left and taken their buttery quarry with them, but there was Clint, seated at the table with a bowl of fresh popcorn in front of him, playing with his phone and occasionally tossing a kernel into his mouth.

You sighed. “Mind if I grab some?” you asked, voice quiet and throat scratchy from disuse. That gave you a moment of pause; just how long had it been since you’d spoken to anyone? At least a week, if you were counting correctly.

He nodded and you slid into a seat across from him, stealing a handful of the freshly popped kernels and sat in silence for a short time.

“I was a farmer,” Clint announced suddenly, the random statement startling you out of your buttery popcorn reverie.

“I’m sorry…?” you responded, feeling as though you had missed something.

“It was the first time we’d gone up against a djinn,” Clint explained, rolling his bottle of water between his hands. “That was before you even came to us. Tony was pretty sure it was a vampire nest and we just barrelled into the place, finding nothing. Went to secure the area, search it down for any clues to see if the place had been cleared out recently. Didn’t even notice that I was missing for about twenty minutes.”

“Clint, you don’t have to-” you started to say, but the archer waved off your concerns. You knew it couldn’t be easy to talk about; god knew you’d never have told a soul, if you hadn’t been left so confused upon waking.

“It only had me for a few hours, but it was enough, you know?” he said, eyes taking on a faraway look as he spoke. A ghost of a smile came to his lips. “I think I’d have been happy to die. Just drift off, believing the lie.”

You nodded, folding your hands on the tabletop, popcorn long forgotten. “I know the feeling,” you agreed miserably. How nice it would have been, to just stay asleep, to just keep dreaming until the end. You could have lived a lifetime in that fantasy, dreamed yourself an ending still in Bucky’s arms. Anything would have been better than returning to the cold, lonely reality, all of your secrets exposed.

“It was a farmhouse,” Clint went on, smiling down at his hands as he spoke. “Big old place, hundred years at least but still in great shape. Wraparound porch, an old barn, and these orchards…” He sighed, shook his head.

“I wasn’t much of a farmer, I guess,” he explained. “Just sort of messed around, had a little garden going, growing stuff for us to use. Lots of red. Strawberries, tomatoes… Nat loves strawberries.”

“Clint, don’t put yourself through this on my account,” you told him, easily sensing his pain. Even though your powers were relegated to the physical senses, it was not hard to see how much rehashing what he had gone through was hurting him.

“It helps, believe me,” Clint told you, shaking his head. “I can’t… I can’t talk about it with her, you know? And the guys, they don’t want to hear my bullshit. But you get it. You understand.”

You nodded slowly, realizing that this unburdening was as much for Clint’s sake as yours.

“There was a little boy,” he said, voice dropped a little lower. “Ours. Mine and Nat’s. God, was that kid beautiful, not even two years old. Had her eyes. I can remember his face so clearly, it’s…” He paused, clearing his throat. Though his eyes remained downcast, you could tell they were welling with tears. When he glanced back up, he gave you a pained smile.

“It’s so real, you know? Only had me doped up on their venom a little while, but it was so real… I kept asking about him, asking Nat. ‘Where’s the baby, is the baby okay’, over and over. They’d figured it out by then, what had been happening, and she humored me best she could, but…”

Clint cleared his throat again. “Was a long time after that before Natasha could be around me. Hurt her too, I guess, knowing that somewhere deep down, I wanted something we really couldn’t have. Something I didn’t even know I wanted.”

“But it got better,” you pointed out softly. Natasha and Clint were still together, going strong from what you could tell; you’d catch her occasionally watching him with a small smile on her often stoic face, clearing only if she noticed you looking. Clint was far less secretive; one glance at Natasha and you could see the sun rise and set in his eyes.

“It did,” he agreed, nodding, smile a little less rueful now. “But it took time. Thing is, everybody got an earful from me when I was still out of it. They all know. Tony, Cap, everybody. And no one gave me shit about it -- just like no one’s gonna give you shit. We can’t help our fantasies, right?”

You sighed, eyes dropping to your hands again.

Clint said your name, tossing a kernel of popcorn at you to make you glance up and give a watery smile. 

“No one’s gonna give you any shit about it,” he told you again, voice firmer this time. “Anybody even thinks about trying, they’re gonna have to deal with me.”

 

He hugged you before he left, heading back to his room where, undoubtedly, Natasha was still asleep, leaving you behind with your salty snack bounty. You were glad for Clint, for his kindness and chivalry at vowing to protect you from any unkind word, even though you knew no one would be at all cruel to you about what had gone on.

What he had failed to realize, however, was that when he woke from his dreamscape-nightmare, he still had Natasha at his side. It may have taken time for her to get past what he had said upon waking, but they were still together, and they had been together when he was taken by the djinn, so it would have been no surprise to anyone that his fantasies revolved around their life together.

You had no more claim on Bucky Barnes than you did on Steve or Bruce or any of the others that you worked with. You were barely even friends, brought together only by the work that you did.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you were alone with the man.

 

You had been as nervous as anyone, when you were told that Steve was bringing in the former Winter Soldier. Of course you understood it, the Captain’s need to save his friend, to help him find himself again, but anyone who had been touched by Hydra was enough to strike fear in your heart.

They had come for you once, after all. You had escaped, just barely, but the specter of that hell always hung at the side of your mind, just waiting to strike again.

You hadn’t expected him to be so handsome, so quiet. So polite. Timid, even, at first. Keeping to himself, or at Steve’s side, rarely speaking up unless spoke to directly.

You did your best to be friendly but Bucky had seemed uninterested in your kindness, so you backed off, sticking to the basic social niceties, even as his personality was drawn out by time and friendship. The first time you saw him smile, really full-on grin, it felt like your heart stopped in your chest. You tried to tell yourself it was a silly little crush, and that it would pass, but it only seemed to get worse.

 

The first time Bucky Barnes saved your life, you knew it was far more than a stupid schoolgirl infatuation.

The mission had turned into an ambush; it was supposed to have been a brief affair, in and out with as little damage as possible, but what your intel had reported as a small under-armed Hydra weapons cache had turned out to be a fully functioning underground base -- and they had known you were coming.

Someone in Hydra tech had whipped up a little surprise just for you, a type of hand grenade that emitted a high-pitched squeal and then flooded the area with a noxious gas. It wouldn’t have been more than an annoyance to anyone else, but to you it was incapacitating; you always had your senses open as far as you could extend them when you were working. The noise took you down and the scent held you there, until Bucky came barrelling through the cloud of gas and swept you up into his arms.

He didn’t stop running until you were in the safety of the quinjet, and Bucky had seen to personally settling you into the containment unit that Tony had created for you, where you could lie down and all noise, sound, and light were blotted out until you could recover yourself.

Even after you were out of danger, the quinjet safely in the air, your heart was still pounding from the feel of Bucky’s arms around you.

 

If you hadn’t been so caught up in your memories, you would have heard his approach. You had long ago memorized the sound and cadence of every Avenger’s footsteps; you could scent them from far off, each mixture of colognes and perfumes, soaps and shampoos. You would have known he was there long before he spoke, if you had been paying attention.

 

The low voice saying your name startled you into reality and a hot flush flooded your cheeks immediately as you took in the scent that had been so calming to you just weeks before, when you were freshly delivered from your djinn-influenced dreams: cedar oil and musk, just the slightest hint of warm metal.

You didn’t turn around to face him, even though you knew he would be hovering in the doorway.

“Hello, Bucky,” you said quietly.

“You mind if I sit down?” he asked, stepping quietly into the kitchen and gesturing to the seat that Clint had so recently vacated. “Figure we have a few things to talk about.”

You nodded your approval though you couldn’t meet his gaze, tears welling in your eyes. You balled up your fists and rubbed at them in frustration; it was bad enough that he knew about your feelings, did you have to cry in front of him too?

“Hey, c’mon now, no cryin’,” Bucky said softly, and reached across the table with his flesh hand to wipe a tear from your cheeks. “Just wanna talk to you, is all. Is that okay?”

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you said quickly, voice low and rasping. “I didn’t mean -- I never would have… I’m just so sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry over,” he told you, shaking his head. That surprised you and you glanced up to meet his clear blue gaze, eyes boring into yours. He was dressed for sleep, in a black tank and rumpled grey pajama pants, hair mussed from his pillow but expression clear and alert. 

He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I didn’t know much about djinns till Bruce filled me in, I’m sorry if I was a little rough on you.”

You gave a laugh that bordered on bitter. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” you told him, looking away again. His gaze on you was intense, almost palpable; it was too much.

“See, that’s the part I don’t understand, doll,” Bucky told you, frowning at you across the table. “Way Bruce tells it, we can’t help what these things put into our heads. They just poke around our daydreams and pick the ones we like best, right? Not your fault they threw me in as a placeholder, right?”

Your gaze snapped back to him, suddenly confused. It sounded like he didn’t understand what had happened at all. “Bucky?” you asked slowly. “I’m not sure... “

“Thing I can’t wrap my head around, though, is why me?” he went on, metallic hand drumming fingertips against the tabletop. You noted that Bucky suddenly seemed nervous; he was fidgeting, just a little, and perspiring. “Everyone you got runnin’ around this joint, and that thing picks me? I mean,” he went on, barking a short, nervous laugh. “It’s not like you so much as look at me in the off-time, you know? If it wanted to give you some idea of an apple pie kinda life, why not take somebody better suited for it? Like Stevie.”

You had a sudden creeping realization. The way Bucky talked, he seemed to assume that your fantasy, the daydream dearest to your heart, was simple having a normal, boring life in some little house in the suburbs. He didn’t seem to understand that it was him that you wanted, that you dreamed about -- that the djinn had shown you a world where your secret, shameful love of the former soldier was reciprocated.

That you could have dreamed of living on the streets or on the run with him, so long as he was there and loved you back.

“Bucky…” you started, unsure of how to proceed. He seemed so agitated, it seemed only fair to tell him the truth, but that would mean actually admitting your feelings to him.

“Maybe I was just the last fella you talked to on comm?” he suggested, clearly going back over the mission in his mind. “I was, wasn’t I? My fault for not tracking you better. Helluva dream for that thing to spark, throwing you together with the guy who got you caught in the first place.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t…” you tried to tell him.

“It’s just… it’s been driving me crazy, doll,” Bucky said, brow creased in… what? Annoyance? Confusion? You couldn’t get a read on him at all. “Steve said I should talk to you about it, you could explain it all but I just… why me? I’m not worth a damn, not compared to all the other guys in your life. I’m… I’m broken, and I… it’s not right. It shouldn’t have been me.”

“I don’t think we should talk about this,” you said suddenly, standing up from your place at the table, popcorn abandoned. Your fight or flight response was kicking in and in the face of something like this, you were ready to fly. Enemy soldiers, aliens, monsters -- that you could handle. Admitting your feelings to the man that occupied your every dream? That was just a little too much for you to bear.

You were nearly out the door when you felt a hand on your arm, steely grip firm but not painful. There was no way you could pull out of Bucky’s hold, not when he used his prosthetic arm.

“Please,” he said, and there was something you hadn’t heard from him before, something dark and pleading, in his voice. He said your name plaintively, and when you didn’t respond, he begged again: “Please.”

“I don’t know what you want,” you choked out, eyes closed even as you were turned away, unable to speak, so much as look at him.

“I need you to tell me it was an accident,” Bucky told you, voice almost frantic. You turned back and were shocked to see how much the conversation had affected him, face red, eyes wide and pained. “I need you to tell me that it was just a fluke, that the djinn just pulled a random thought outta your head.”

You didn’t understand it. Could it be that horrible for him, knowing what you thought of him? Knowing that you loved him? Were you really all that awful, that such a thing would leave him worried, biting his lip, breaking a sweat?

“Why?” you managed, voice breaking a little, choking back a sob that wanted to loose itself from your lips. “Why can’t you just let me be?”

“Please,” Bucky said again, shaking his head. “Please tell me it was just… it was just a fluke. I need it, please, I need to hear it. I need you to tell me, so I stop thinkin’... so I stop hopin’... Please, put me out of my misery here, just tell me it was all a mistake.”

“It was you because I wanted it to be you,” you finally spat out, furious at yourself for admitting the words even as they tumbled out of your mouth. You had an out there, you could have convinced him it was a random happenstance; you could have lied. You didn’t have to end up like this, a teary mess in the middle of the night, ashamed and so, so embarrassed.

 

You never expected Bucky to suddenly turn you roughly around, to grab your shoulders with both hands and study your face, eyes wild and searching for something you couldn’t name. When he kissed you it was rough, violent, but just for a moment; it quickly dissolved into sweetness, his hands on your arms relaxing and falling to slide around your waist, pulling you closer even as he stepped forward to rest your back against the wall.

When the shock wore off, you gave back as good as you got, biting at his lips and gasping when he returned the motion in kind. You threw your arms around his shoulders, wanting to feel the hard muscle beneath your palms, if only for a moment; your rational mind couldn’t keep up, too confused and unsure, but the animal part of you that hung on for the ride wanted to take in as much sensory information as possible, so you could remember this moment forever.

You didn’t think you’d ever want to get the taste of him off your lips, and you prayed that you never would.

When the need for air became too great, you reluctantly pulled back, chest heaving as you panted, and stared at Bucky, waiting for some response, some explanation. He was a hell of a sight, flush high in his cheeks and mouth kiss-bruised and red. He seemed to brace himself for a moment, as though waiting for you to run, or shout, or lash out. When you simply stood, arms still around him, waiting for your breathing to normalize, he shook his head.

“Why me?” he asked quietly. “How could you ever want someone… something… like me? I’m no good for you, no good for anybody.”

“No. Don’t you dare,” you said, shaking your head. You were dizzy and light; you’d think the djinn had taken you again, if the reality didn’t feel so much better than you had imagined. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that, Bucky Barnes. Nobody gets to say that about the guy I love, not even him, you understand?”

He laughed, pressing his forehead to yours, and for the first time since you had met him, you could see joy in Bucky’s eyes, real, unbridled joy.

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to Stephen King, from whom I stole the title.


End file.
